


Right in Front of Me

by RedOrchid



Category: Bandom
Genre: Christmas, Everybody Loves Brendon, Fuckbuddies, Gratuitous Use of Norwegian, Jon's imaginary family makes an appearance, M/M, Meeting the Parents, NRWC era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer and Jon have both managed to fall head over heels in love with Brendon. Then Brendon and Ryan get together. Now what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jon’s not disappointed.

It’s just not what he thought it would be, is all. Not that he did. Think about it. Not in any kind of deeper sense at least. He just…yeah. The sort of hazy maybe-image that might have been floating through his head for the past couple of months? This isn’t it.

He supposes that he should have seen it. Really, it’s pretty fucking obvious, even without the shock of _actually_ seeing it, right there, on the couch in the back lounge, less than twenty feet away from where Jon is currently standing. Thinking back, there’s no real reason to why he should have missed it. None apart from him being a stupid, oblivious, infatuated idiot who didn’t _want_ to see what was right in front of his eyes because he was too busy hoping it wasn’t actually true.

Hoping that what he felt between _them_ was.

Slowly, silently, Jon steps back, closes the door and moves back to the front of the bus, going to check if Spencer still has the movie he wanted them to watch.

***

  


“So, Brendon, huh?” Spencer says when the credits to the third part of their impromptu movie marathon start to roll across the screen. “You okay?”

Jon closes his eyes and presses himself closer. Spencer is warm and kind of perfect to cling to. Jon does.

“Guess I fail at subtle,” he says, trying for a smile and hating himself for being too obvious. “You think he knows? Fuck, please don’t tell me _Ryan_ knows too.”

“No,” Spencer says, pulling Jon up so that they’re lying face to face on the couch, foreheads touching. “No, it’s only me.”

Jon nods. Spencer’s hand moves up between them, skating lightly over Jon’s face and disappearing into his hair. He starts drawing little spirals on the back of Jon’s head, easing the tension in Jon’s neck with his fingers. “It’ll get better, I promise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly. “I kind of do.”

Jon opens his eyes. Spencer’s fingers are still moving, but the rest of him has gone very still, waiting for Jon's reaction.

 _“Brendon?”_ Jon asks, honestly surprised. “Since when?”

Spencer looks down, a slow blush creeping into his cheeks. “Always. I mean, since I met him. He’s just really hard not to fall in love with, you know?”

Jon smiles. It’s the first smile since he walked into the back lounge more than seven hours earlier. “Yeah. So, did…?”

“Always Ryan,” Spencer says with a sigh. “It’s so stupid. They’ve been circling each other for two years now, and Ryan can’t just let himself go for it, because he’s scared shitless that if he does, Brendon will lose interest. Brendon tries to break away sometimes—you know, sleep with one of the girls hanging off him or actually go on a date, but in the end, it’s all pointless because he’s so completely fucking in love with Ryan that I don’t think he even notices the world around him.”

“Um,” Jon says. “I think he just did. Ryan I mean. I—I kind of walked in on them earlier. That's why I—”

“Oh,” Spencer says, and his voice is so small all of a sudden. Jon takes his free hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Yeah.”

They stay there for a long time, just breathing together, sharing warmth

“It'll get better,” Jon says, echoing Spencer's words. “It has to, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “It will.”

And then he shifts closer, curling himself around Jon until they're all tangled up and Spencer's head is resting snugly against Jon's chest. It's a bit surprising. It's not that they don't cuddle, because they do. The whole band does, all possible constellations of them—but usually not like this.

It's not the time for questions though, so Jon settles for wrapping his arms closer around the body next to him and lets himself drift off to sleep with the scent of Spencer's hair surrounding him.

It feels nice to have a friend.

***

  


“You run towards your lover and embrace for that perfect, passionate kiss...”

Jon focuses on his bass, fiddling unnecessarily with the strings, playing random melodies that complement the drama going on on the other side of the stage. He wonders if today is the day when it finally happens, when his friends forget for a second where they are, or just come to the decision that they don't care if the whole world sees anymore.

Waiting is the worst part. Night after night of seeing the same invitation issued, be rejected in front of thousands and then accepted all the more enthusiastically as soon as the lights go down. He tries to be happy for them, because Ryan and Brendon are so obviously crazy about each other, and the smile spreading across Ryan's face when Brendon walks into the room these days is pretty friggin' hard to hate.

Still.

The fans scream, and Jon turns around, automatically seeking Spencer's eyes. They smile at each other—two cell mates in the same kind of fucked up prison. It's nice—easier. Jon raises an eyebrow in an ironic 'look at us' kind of gesture. He expects Spencer to reply with a smirk or a nod, so when Spencer just looks back at him, blue eyes meeting Jon's steadily, face flushed from playing his heart out, Jon finds himself missing a breath.

At the centre of the stage, Brendon is finishing up his speech (not today, it seems), and Jon rolls his shoulders to refocus on the show. The music is in his fingers now, flowing through him automatically when he touches the strings. He hears Brendon sing the first verse of the next song, low and husky, with nearly unbearable urgency, and does his best not to listen.

***

  


“How do you picture it? You know, when you can't help thinking about it?” Spencer asks one night when they are curled together in one of the beds in their shared hotel room. Jon doesn't really know at what point they stopped switching beds in the middle of the night and just started slipping in between the same sheets straight away, but it's long enough to have become a set routine by now.

“Vibrant,” Jon says after thinking about it for a while. “He's just... I just haven't met anyone like him before. Everything is just filled with colour when he's around, you know?”

Spencer nods. “When he came into the band,” he says, “he wasn't like he is now. I mean, he was, but there were so many things that were off, with him and his family and school and stuff. And I just—I kept having these fantasies, where I would hang out at his shithole apartment, and the right moment would come along, and I would say something, or do something, and things would magically fall into place... I don't know. I guess I wanted some kind of stupid fairy tale.”

“So why didn't you go for it?” Jon asks, voice quiet.

Spencer tilts his head up, blue eyes almost black in the darkness of the room.

“I was never the prince,” he says, and before Jon has time to think of a reply, Spencer is kissing him—nothing big or fancy, just lips brushing over Jon's like Spencer wants to ask him something.

Jon lets out a shaky breath and doesn't move away. Spencer presses forward. The kisses get wetter, deeper, _closer_ , and Jon can't help but melt into them. It's gorgeous intimacy after months of feeling like an outcast, and it's so _fucking_ good. He moves a hand into Spencer's hair, revels in the feeling of being allowed to touch someone he knows and cares about.

Spencer pushes him back into the pillows, and it's all inevitable from there. They take the time to enjoy one another, letting everything just flow in a steady stream until the need for _more_ becomes overwhelming.

“It's okay if you think about him,” Spencer breathes in his ear as he presses inside. “Just—don't say his name, okay? Let's pretend we're not actually this pathetic for a second.”

Jon opens his eyes, tries to breathe and wraps his legs solidly around Spencer's back, pulling him deeper.

“Deal.”

Spencer moans and starts to move—long, rhythmic thrusts that make Jon lose his mind. Jon keeps his eyes open, watches Spencer's face open up in pleasure, hair dishevelled and little beads of perspiration forming at the temples.

“God, Spence...”

Spencer's head falls back, mouth opening to take in shallow gasps of air. He tilts his hips, and Jon stops thinking and just lets everything inside him tumble off the cliff into nothingness. He's vaguely aware of making sounds, syllables strung together that sound nothing like Brendon's name. He reaches up and pulls Spencer down by the neck, kissing him until he runs out of air and everything is spinning around him. Spencer's hands slide in beneath his shoulders, grasping for better leverage, and it's hot and fast and so fucking deep that Jon can't do anything but arch into it and twist his hands in Spencer's hair to keep their mouths together.

Spencer tilts his hips again, alternating between pushing into the spot that makes Jon's vision black out—seriously, _black out,_ holy shit—and arching his back so that the soft part of his stomach rubs against Jon's cock, hard and leaking between them. Jon closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to hold off just a little while longer. It's a losing battle, and he goes down fast, panting into Spencer's mouth as the tension breaks and he spills over both their stomachs, easing the friction and making everything slick and dirty and so, so fucking perfect.

Spencer keeps fucking him, and it's almost painful—too much sensation too soon after coming. At the same time, Jon can't even imagine himself asking Spencer to slow down; the burn is insane, but it's also exquisite, and Jon doesn't want for it to stop. Maybe not ever.

Feeling Spencer shudder and come inside him is mind-blowing. Spencer doesn't cry out or moan when he comes—he whimpers, just a small, broken sound at the back of his throat that makes Jon want to grab Spencer and kiss him and hold him and never, ever let go.

So he does. The grabbing and kissing part at least.

They don't bother to clean up, as that would entail untangling their bodies and actually get out of bed. Jon is pretty sure his legs won't be supporting him any time soon, and from the wrecked expression on Spencer's face, he's in a similar state. They fall asleep instead, with Spencer still on top and deep inside, breathing softly into Jon's neck as his body gives in to exhaustion. Jon follows minutes later, hand still in Spencer's tangled hair, waiting for the feeling of awe to fade.

***

  


Waking up to a sun-drenched hotel room and the sight of Spencer Smith's sleeping face probably rates in the top ten moments of Jon's life so far. Spencer's face is soft and open when he sleeps, and he looks even younger and more innocent than he actually is. Jon leans in without thinking, brushing his lips over Spencer's jaw.

Spencer blinks, blue eyes unfocused until they settle on Jon's. Then they close again, and a small smile spreads across his lips. “Hi.”

They kiss, slow and deep, until Spencer's alarm rings, and a little while after that—which puts them behind time-wise, so they decide to take their morning showers together to catch up.

Zack starts banging on the door about thirty minutes later. Spencer manages a shaky “five minutes!” from where he's slumped down on the tiles, voice completely shot to hell. Above him, Jon leans his forehead against the shower wall and tries to get his breathing back to normal.

***

  
They keep their thing—whatever it is—quiet by unspoken agreement. It takes an almost insultingly long time for Ryan and Brendon to catch on, which Jon puts down to the fact that both of them are floating around on pink little clouds, completely oblivious of the world around them. Ryan and Brendon these days are blissful looks and hand-holding in interviews, footsie under the table at meet and greets, spontaneous groping during photo shoots and a million other things that make keeping the fact that the two of them are not-so-secretly going at it like bunnies pretty damn hard to hide.

It's creating more buzz than anything in their stage show has (which is getting less and less subtle as well; fuck, Brendon practically prowls the stage these days). There is just _so much evidence_ that Jon can hardly blame the fans for connecting the dots. Some days, Ryan worries himself sick about it, and on those days, Brendon comes huddling up to Jon or Spencer for comforting arms and whispered words of reassurance until Ryan comes back, begging for forgiveness (and getting it every time).

Jon hates every single minute of it.

They declare a no-sex-on-the-bus rule (Spencer does, Jon backs him up, Ryan and Brendon agree when blackmailed and Ryan sulks about it for three days), and everyone follows it most of the time. It's impossible to stop Ryan and Brendon from making out, however, and if anything could make Jon regret signing his name to the record contract, hearing (not to mention seeing) their lovey-dovey, eternity-long kissing sessions would definitely be it.

He and Spencer get away from the bus as much as they can. It's not all sex, all the time, but it happens, and when it does, it's pretty great. Jon develops an insane crush on Spencer's lower back and, by extension, the baby tees he's prone to wearing. Brendon calls him on it one day when they're out shopping, after Jon picks out a third sparkly tee that's at least two sizes too small for him.

“So, you and Spence, huh?” Brendon says, and the way he says it—all waggling eyebrows and happy smiles—makes Jon feel extremely uncomfortable.

Jon folds the tees he found over his left arm and shrugs. “They would look good on him,” he says, ignoring the actual question. “Come on, we need to get back to the bus.”

Brendon isn't that easily deterred.

“It's not nice to keep secrets from your friends,” he complains as they make their way to the cash register. Jon mumbles something that probably includes things like 'Ryan' and 'you can't talk'.

Brendon laughs, followed by wrapping his arms tightly around Jon's middle from behind and moulding his entire body to Jon's back. “I'm happy for you,” he whispers, hugging tighter. “You and Spence together just makes everything perfect.”

Jon puts an arm over Brendon's and squeezes back half-heartedly, grateful that Brendon can't see his face.

That night, he and Spencer share a bottle of vodka and work out weeks of pent up frustration and disappointment against a table in a venue dressing room. Spencer says just enough for Jon to guess that there's been a similar discussion between him and Ryan.

The next day, Jon wakes up with a hangover special-ordered straight from Hell, bruises and bite marks all over his body and a feeling that something important just changed.

They don't talk about that either.

***

  
Christmas is coming up, and they'll be on a break for nearly three weeks. Jon is counting down the days until he gets to go home. He misses Chicago. Being on tour with The Academy Is... meant that he always had friends to be homesick with, and no matter how much he loves his new band, they're not _home_.

“When are you flying back?” Spencer asks one day when they're sitting in a studio, waiting for an interview to start.

“Haven't booked anything yet,” Jon replies. “But probably on the twentieth. You?”

“Ryan and Brendon want to hit LA before going back to Vegas,” Spencer says. “Ryan said okay to go to Disneyland.”

“So it's true love then?” Jon says with a small smile. “Can't imagine Ryan submitting himself to the horrors of pink commercialism for anything less.”

“Yeah,” Spencer replies quietly. “Looks like it.”

They sit in silence for a while, side by side.

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Jon asks. Spencer shrugs.

“Spending time with my family,” he says. “Playing video games with my sisters, probably. Hanging out with Ryan and Brendon a lot. If they can stop groping each other for long enough to answer the phone.”

“What about Brendon's parents?”

“He talked to them a couple of days ago again. They're trying to mend things. He and Ryan are going there on Christmas Day. As friends.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “But at least they're talking, right?”

Jon nods.

“You should come down,” Spencer continues. “For New Year's or something. We could hang out.”

“And watch Ryan and Bren kiss under mistletoes?” Jon asks with a small grin. “I don't think so.”

“So you'll just leave me all alone with them as they try to christen every surface in Brendon's apartment?” Spencer huffs, dropping his face into his hands. “Thanks, Jon, that's really nice of you.”

Jon puts a hand on his back, stroking until he manages to coax Spencer's head up to rest against his shoulder.

“Come with me to Chicago.”

Spencer looks up at him, confused and a little wary. “Like, for New Year's?”

“No,” Jon says, moving his hand to Spencer's shoulder, kneading the muscles there, “For Christmas. Well, and New Year's. If you want.”

“What?” Spencer says, looking at Jon like he's lost his mind. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Jon says. “Come on. My mom makes a kick-ass turkey, and unlike Vegas, we get actual snow. It'll be great.”

“I _have_ a family,” Spencer says. “Why would I spend Christmas with yours instead?”

“You _just_ said—”

“What I _meant_ ,” Spencer says, “is that my mom is amazing and great and very, very good at interrogating people. What would I even be going as? Your _friend?_ Bandmate? Boyfriend? What could I possibly tell my parents that would make any sense?”

“How about the truth?” Jon asks. “I thought you guys were pretty close? You don't think they could handle it?”

Spencer sighs. “I don't even know what the truth is supposed to be here.”

“No?” Jon says. “Well I don't have a clue, either. Do you _want_ to spend Christmas with me?”

“What do _you_ want?”

“No,” Jon says flatly. “I'm not doing this. I _hate_ that whole back-and-forth guessing game thing. I suck at it, okay? You want to know how I feel, then fucking _ask_ me about it.”

Spencer pulls away, ducking out from under Jon's arm and leaning back against the wall. They look at each other, and Jon can't help but feel as though some other invisible line was just crossed.

“Fine,” Spencer says finally. “Why are you inviting me home for Christmas, Jon? How do you feel about me? What do you want to happen here?”

“I like you,” Jon says. The words come more easily than he thought they would, so he takes a deep breath and plunges forward. “I think you're fucking gorgeous, I like hanging out with you and I would miss you if you were somewhere else for three weeks. I don't want to spend Christmas in Las Vegas because I don't want to watch Ryan and Brendon going at it 24/7. My family is pretty relaxed; I think we'd have fun there. And I'm not going to lie and pretend that the thought of having you all to myself in my apartment without anyone to interrupt us doesn't get me hard.”

Spencer visibly swallows. “You didn't answer the last question.”

“I don't know,” Jon confesses. “I want you to come to Chicago with me. I want to fuck you in my bed and have you meet my parents and take you to the coffee shop at the corner of my block with the best cappuccinos ever. I don't know if I that means that I want us to fall in love, or if we're ever going to, but I'm not really worried either way. What happens happens. And if we're over by this time next year, I'd love to have memories of spending this Christmas with you, because, frankly, I think we'd friggin' rock it.”

Spencer looks at him for a long time, and Jon is just about to tell him to forget all about it when Spencer smiles, slow and breathtaking.

“Okay,” he says, and Jon feels a smile spread on his face as well. “God, my mom will fucking kill me.”

***

  
Ryan and Brendon are both smiling obnoxiously when they wave them off at the airport gate.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Ryan says, looking at Spencer like he knows the world's greatest secret. “Have fun.”

Spencer flips him off. A second later, he and Ryan are wrapped in a hug so tight that Jon worries idly about them cracking a couple of ribs. He looks at Brendon, who smiles and pulls Jon into a hug of their own. It feels... different somehow, and it's not until he and Spencer have made it through security and are hanging out at the gate that Jon is able to pinpoint the feeling.

It felt nice. Normal-nice.

Huh.

He lets Spencer have the window seat once they get on the plane and spends most of take off watching his face as Spencer watches the world become smaller and smaller beneath them. Spencer lets him look, pretending not to notice, even though Jon knows that he has from the way a light blush spreads steadily across Spencer's neck with every minute.

The fasten-seatbelts sign is switched off with a ping, and Spencer turns around slowly, tilting his head to get his mouth close to Jon's ear.

“Mile-high club?”

Jon swallows and nods. Spencer presses a kiss into his neck. “Now?”

“Once the movie starts,” Jon whispers back. Spencer makes a small protest against his throat but pulls back. Jon reaches up to press the call button over his head, asking the flight attendant for extra blankets and pillows when she comes by their row. It's a pretty long flight, and Jon has a plan that is much better than trying to get each other off in an air plane bathroom. He tells Spencer about it before the meal comes in, because he wants Spencer to think about it, imagine it in vivid detail before they get to the point where it actually happens.

Wants Spencer worked up and ready before the first touch.

The movie starts and the lights go out. Jon waits for about twenty minutes and then kicks off his shoes and puts one foot up on his seat, pulling Spencer in to lean against his chest and spreading the blankets over both of them. Spencer follows his example, putting both his feet up and letting his right knee press against the seat in front, legs spreading.

“Open your pants,” Jon instructs quietly. His right hand goes to the top of his own jeans, popping the button without making a sound, slowly pulling the zipper down. His left arm is around Spencer's waist, trapped there with the hand in perfect position over Spencer's groin. He strokes lightly across the lower stomach, waiting. Spencer's hand stops the movement a little while later, guiding Jon's hand further down, through the slit in Spencer's boxers. Spencer is already hard when Jon touches him, making it slightly tricky to move the fabric aside. Jon can't help but smile.

He reaches carefully into his front pocket for the condoms he put there earlier, doing his best not to move the blankets too much. He hands them to Spencer, tells him to open them, accepts one back and slides it carefully down over his dick. The feeling of latex under his hands as he starts to stroke both of them (flicks of the wrist only, no movement visible outside the blankets) is unfamiliar. They don't use condoms most of the time, but sometimes, like now, it's a practical solution, avoiding a mess and keeping things clean.

“Lean back.”

Spencer lets his head fall against Jon's shoulder, eyes closed and mouth half-open, pretending to be falling asleep. Jon lets himself slump a little, hiding his face half-way in Spencer's hair.

“I could blindfold you, you know,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. “Cover up half your face with that little mask they give you. I bet you'd like that.”

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and then his right arm is shifting carefully between them, moving back until Spencer can sink his fingers firmly into the inside of Jon's thigh through the jeans. Jon bites down around the groan that automatically travels up his throat and moves both hands faster.

“When I get you home,” he whispers, “I will strip you down and lead you into the shower, lift your hands up and tie them to the shower head.” Spencer's face is perfectly neutral, breaths even, if a little shallower than they would be if he were actually asleep. Jon is impressed.

“I'd start at the top of your spine,” he continues, stroking Spencer a little faster with sharp flicks of his wrist. “Work my way down. Let the water heat up your skin before I'd drop to my knees and start working you open with my tongue.”

The fingers on Jon's leg tighten, followed by an answering twitch in his cock. He's almost painfully hard, and getting harder every time Spencer moves his hand on Jon's thigh or someone walks past them in the aisle on their way to the bathroom. It's thrilling, the danger of it all, having Spencer like this, barely hidden, surrounded by people and with nowhere to go, should they get caught.

“I think I'd finger you after that,” he says quickly, putting most of his concentration into making sure his voice doesn't crack. “Move around your body to take your cock into my mouth while I do it. Spread your legs so wide, you will hardly be able to stand and then have you fuck my mouth until you're leaking down my throat, begging me to let you come.”

Spencer goes impossibly still in his arms, every muscle tensing as his cock begins to jerk in Jon's grip. Jon ups his tempo even more, whispering words into Spencer's ear about how good it will feel to fuck him, as he fights to keep his movements even. Spencer stops breathing when he comes, holding himself still and silent as Jon strokes him through his orgasm. He comes down on a slow, deep breath, leaning heavily against Jon's body and looking every bit as innocent as someone just stirring in their sleep. The contrast with the still pulsing cock in Jon's left hand and the fingers on Jon's thigh that are loosening their death grip and beginning to stroke lazy paths up the length of his inseam is making Jon dizzy. He hides his face more fully in Spencer's hair, biting his lip firmly to keep quiet as he comes hard into his fist, feeling the pressure break and everything turn a blinding white behind his closed eyelids.

They rest in the same position for a while, breathing together, coming down from the high. With a little bit of fumbling, they manage to get the condoms off and into the bag supplied for people being airsick, folding it up as much as possible to minimise the smell.

“I can't believe we just did that,” Spencer whispers as they get more comfortable and cuddle together again, blankets wrapped snugly around them. Jon laughs softly into the crook of Spencer's neck and can't believe it either.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon's parents pick them up at the airport and whisk them off to dinner at Jon's favourite steak house. Spencer's visible nervousness melts away during salads, and Jon smiles to himself. His mom is love-bombing Spencer from every direction in that special way of hers that makes people forget that they haven't known her their whole life. Jon's dad is more reserved, but easy-going and friendly—good at asking the right questions to make people relax.

Together, they make a pretty unbeatable team. Spencer is smiling and laughing, telling stories about his family and things that have happened on tour while Jon breaks in to add things he forgets and beat him to a punch line or five. No one asks any uncomfortable questions, and the first night in Chicago couldn't have gone better if Jon had special-ordered it from somewhere higher up.

Simon and Marla Walker drop them off at Jon's apartment when they finally manage to leave the restaurant and wish Spencer a very nice stay in Chicago. Spencer stares after the car when they drive away, like he's still a little spellbound and not entirely sure what happened to him yet. Jon grabs their bags and gets them into the elevator, pulling Spencer with him by the front of his jacket and pushing him up against the wall as the elevator starts to climb.

“Empty apartment,” he murmurs, kissing Spencer hot and hungrily, pressing their hips together. “Empty apartment with a _bed_.”

Spencer moans and kisses him back. The elevator comes to a stop, and they somehow manage to get their shit out of it, through a corridor and into Jon's apartment without breaking the kiss.

The cats are still with Jon's brother, and the bed has fresh sheets on it, smelling faintly of the blossom fabric softener his mom always uses. Jon breathes in the scent as he pulls Spencer's shirt over his head and rolls with him, revelling in the feeling of being home. Being home with Spencer, who is pulling his jeans down and crawling between Jon's thighs.

Jon has a feeling this Christmas will be pretty awesome.

***

  


The first three days are divided pretty much equally between Jon's bed and every awesome thing the city of Chicago has to offer. There's a lot of friends and music. And more than one slice of Jon's favourite pizza.

The fourth day is Christmas Eve—a day with long-standing Walker family traditions. They take the car to Jon's parents' house in the early afternoon, armed with overnight bags and Christmas sweaters from Jon's closet, because a Walker family Christmas is a three-day event.

“It's all about stamina,” Jon explains on the way there. “Mom will have made enough food and snacks and candy to feed half the state, and she will not stop giving you more, so you need to choose a strategy wisely. I try to always have a fistful of nuts in my pocket. That way, you can always be eating something when you see her approach. Oh, and stay clear of the cinnamon rolls. Once you eat one, you won't be able to stop, and those fuckers are filling as hell.”

“I think I'll manage,” Spencer says with a smirk. “You haven't seen the amount of food _my_ family can whip up for a holiday. I'm gonna beat your ass at your own game.”

“No way, dude,” Jon protests, smiling as well. “I've been perfecting how this game is played for _years_. There will be no rookie take over.”

“I brought sweatpants,” Spencer says. “The ones with a really loose elastic that almost fall off my hips. I'll be able to eat _anything_.”

Jon opens his mouth to reply but is temporarily stumped by the image of Spencer's hips and, more importantly, clothes _falling off_ Spencer's hips. Spencer catches the expression and smiles sweetly, feigning a yawn and stretching so that his shirt rides up just enough to give Jon a glimpse of his bare stomach.

“Eyes on the road, Jon,” Spencer says casually, smoothing the fabric back down.

Jon gives him the best innocent look he can manage and turns his focus back to driving.

***

  


“Come in, come in,” Jon's mother welcomes them when they arrive. “Everyone! Jon and Spencer are here!”

There's a flurry of activity as people crowd into the hallway, everybody hugging them and talking at once. Jon's older brothers, Bill and Mike, are both there—along with Lindsey, who has been Mike's girlfriend for longer than Jon can remember and Bill's wife Susan (very pregnant, Jon is slightly scared by how big her stomach is). Spencer is looking a bit overwhelmed by all the attention he's getting, so Jon breaks away from his dad, claiming that they need to go dump off their stuff.

“Go right ahead, honey,” Marla says. “Bill and Susan are staying in the guest room, so we moved the twin from his room into yours. Figured it was more comfortable than a fold-out bed.”

Jon calls a 'thanks' over his shoulder as he and Spencer make their way up the stairs. He's a bit surprised that they didn't just leave Bill's bed in his old room and put Spencer in there, to be honest, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sleeping in the same room means less naked sneaking around the hallways at night, which is all very good and well in Jon's book.

“Um, Jon...”

Spencer has come to a stop right inside Jon's bedroom. He sounds... more than just a bit overwhelmed. Kind of scared actually. Jon frowns. Did his parents do something horrible to his room while he was gone? His mom _did_ talk about wanting somewhere to put all her sewing things last time he called...

He steps inside.

His room looks just the way it did the last time he saw it. Except. There isn't an extra bed on the opposite wall from his the way Jon pictured it. Instead there's a bed _added_ to Jon's twin, creating a huge double bed that's been piled with a mixture of pillows and Jon's old teddy bears.

So, yes. Definitely an 'um' moment.

“What exactly did you tell your family?” Spencer asks weakly. Jon struggles to remember. Nothing that should have made his parents think that Spencer and he were secretly married. At least he doesn't think so.

“I told them we were kind of dating,” he replies, frowning. “And that I like you. I don't know, I've never brought anyone home before. Maybe they're just trying to be supportive of the fact that you're a dude? Or maybe I just have awesome parents who want me to have a _really_ happy Christmas?” He says the last part with a leer, doing his best to lighten the mood. Spencer gives him a skeptical look and rolls his eyes, but Jon can totally see the corners of his mouth twitch.

Jon wants to kiss him.

Spencer must see it on his face, because he deftly ducks when Jon reaches for him and throws one of the duffel bags in Jon's general direction. “Or maybe you're just a douche who talks too much,” he says, shaking his head like Jon just did something that's both really weird and kind of funny. “Now get your sweatpants on. We have a competition for me to kick your ass in.”

“You wish,” Jon shoots back, reaching into his own duffel. Before they get any further, his mom is calling for everyone to gather in the living room.

As they make it back downstairs, Jon tries not to stare too obviously at the way Spencer's sweatpants really do ride dangerously low on his hips. From the way Bill and Mike give him one look and then burst into laughter, he figures he doesn't manage as well as he would have liked.

***

  
Every Christmas Eve after dinner, the Walker family gathers in the kitchen to decorate Christmas stockings.

“It's a tradition we started when Bill was born,” Simon tells Spencer as they all help sorting out the various glues and ornaments. “Every Christmas, you add a bell to the upper edge, and everyone adds something to your stocking that symbolises the year that has passed.”

“Or that just looks nice,” Mike cuts in. “Dad likes to tell everyone that everything we put on these is all meaningful and stuff, but I usually just add snowmen to everything.”

“Yeah?” Spencer says, looking a little bit relieved. “Why's that?”

“Because that's the only thing he knows how to make,” Lindsey replies, and everybody laughs.

“Here you go, Spencer,” Marla says, holding out a bright red stocking with Spencer's name embroided in curving white letters at the top. “I prepared it for you when Jon said you were coming for Christmas. I hope I spelled your name right?”

Spencer takes the stocking, nodding kind of dazedly. He looks at Jon, eyes a little too wide, and Jon feels suddenly uncomfortable. The red sock in Spencer's hands feels like a statement—more so than anything else that has happened between them in the last four or five months—and Jon doesn't know how to deal with it. He swallows.

On Spencer's other side, Lindsey has obviously picked up on the tension, because she takes the stocking out of Spencer's hands, babbling happily about her first Walker Christmas and how she didn't even know how to thread a needle back then. She takes a bell from a jar and shows Spencer how to sew it on, keeping the conversation light. Spencer is soon laughing again, throwing silly jokes back and forth, asking other people about their stockings and filing through the piles of decorations to find the most ridiculous ones.

Jon can't stop watching him.

He's probably ends up doing it for quite some time, because the next thing he knows, there's a hard elbow making contact with his ribs and Mike is leaning over him, making a grab for the tinsel.

“Dude, you are a total dork,” he whispers. “I mean, I knew you liked this guy from all the pictures you sent, but you are _so gone,_ Jesus fucking Christ.”

Jon looks up, ready to contradict him, because Mike obviously has it wrong, when Spencer leans over and grabs his attention, dangling Lindsey's stocking in front of Jon's face.

“Check it out,” he says smugly, showing off a snowflake that's been added near the heel. “With a _needle and thread_ , Walker. Just wait until we get back on tour. Ryan is going to regret the day the started adding roses to my clothes.”

He looks so excited that Jon can't help but laugh. And then Spencer is close, really close, thigh pressing hotly against Jon's under the table as he outlines his plans for wardrobe revenge. And Jon—Jon tries really hard to keep his head from spinning.

“God, imagine if Brendon was here, though,” Spencer continues, giving back Lindsey's stocking and getting to work on Bill's. “He would go crazy with all this stuff. You'd all end up with things bedazzled from here to Mississippi if you even let him near—” He trails off suddenly, biting his lip and shaking his head, eyes firmly focused on the cherub he's trying to add to the stocking in front of him.

Jon doesn't know where to look either. They haven't mentioned the lavender-hoodie-and-red-supras-clad elephant between them for over a month now. And even though Jon knows Spencer didn't mean to bring it up, he has a sudden flash of Brendon sitting where Spencer is, laughing with Jon's family and trying to grab the glitter.

It doesn't feel the same as it used to. Jon takes a moment to try and imagine it, tries picturing Brendon coming to Chicago with him, doing all the things Spencer has done in the last few days.

It feels weird.

Even more, it feels _wrong_ somehow, like the image doesn't fit in Jon's head anymore. He looks at Spencer, nudging at Spencer's knee with his own until Spencer turns his head and meets his eyes. Spencer looks wary—an uncertain apology mixed with fear, like he half-expects Jon to get upset, or somehow acknowledge that the picture Spencer just painted is the one Jon would _actually_ choose, given half the chance.

Jon kisses him.

It's nothing big, just a hand on Spencer's chin, turning his face up, lips brushing. Spencer tenses up against him, pulling away almost immediately and blushing more than Jon has ever seen him do in his life.

It takes Jon another few seconds to register that everyone around the table is laughing and wolf-whistling at them.

Oh wow.

“Don't worry, sweetie,” Jon's mom says, winking at Jon, who does his best to keep himself from actually catching on fire from embarrassment. He just kissed Spencer in front of his entire family. In front of his _parents_. God, what is happening to his brain? “Remember the year when Bill and Susan came over for Thanksgiving, and we—”

“—swore to never mention it ever again?” Bill cuts in quickly. “Because I remember _that_ part very clearly. Dad, can you please pass the glue?”

And just like that, the tension is gone again. Jon presses his leg closer against Spencer's. A silent question.

Spencer presses back.

***

  
Spencer doesn't even put on the pyjamas he brought when they get back to Jon's room after brushing their teeth and wishing everyone goodnight. He just strips, right in the middle of the room, turning to Jon when he's done and pulling off his clothes as well.

The bed creaks when Spencer jostles it experimentally, and Jon is just about to suggest that they skip sex and go to bed when Spencer grabs his hand and leads him over to the wardrobe in the corner, placing both hands against the wall and looking back at Jon over his shoulder expectantly.

Jon misses a breath. The door of his closet is covered by a full-length mirror, and Spencer is angling himself perfectly, eyes meeting Jon's in the glass.

Jon walks closer, watching his reflection slide up behind Spencer's, hands going to his hips before one of them moves up the length of Spencer's spine. Spencer is quiet, looking back steadily, arching his back under Jon's touch.

As invitations go, that one is more than clear.

They take it agonisingly slow, getting each other worked up in perfect silence until Jon is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from crying out with every movement of Spencer's hips. They haven't stopped watching each other, watching _them_ —naked and panting with drops of sweat trickling down Spencer's spine before Jon catches them with his fingers, smears them over smooth skin.

Spencer keeps his eyes open when he comes, looking straight at Jon as he spills into the hand on his dick. Jon is only seconds behind, watching Spencer's ass swallow his cock and feeling muscles clench around him as he fights for control. Spencer pushes back one last time, and Jon is gone, shaking through the pleasure and trying desperately not to make a sound.

He almost succeeds, a small groan escaping when Spencer lets go of the wall and bends over completely, reaching for one of their discarded t-shirts on the floor.

They clean up clumsily, trying to wipe at each other and kiss at the same time. They stumble into bed and curl up together on the half that's closer to the window, because the sheets are cooler there and neither of them wants to sleep on the crack between the mattresses.

“Merry Christmas,” Spencer whispers, just as Jon is drifting off to sleep. Jon mumbles something back, nuzzling happily into Spencer's neck. Then realisation hits.

“Shit, I almost forgot,” he whispers, crawling out of bed again and rummaging through their duffel bags. “Here, put these on.”

“Jon, what the hell?” Spencer asks with a frown, catching the bundled up pyjamas Jon just threw him. “Can't we just sleep?”

“Not unless you want my dad to see you naked,” Jon replies, fiddling with the drawstring to tie his own sleep pants in place. “Another Walker tradition. Hang on, I have to go get the stockings.”

He sneaks out of his room and down the stairs as quietly as he can. His and Spencer's stockings are still lying on the counter where they left them for the glue to dry. He picks them up and makes his way back, unable to believe he actually forgot his favourite part about spending Christmas at home. Maybe one of his gifts tomorrow will be a new brain. Jon can only hope.

Spencer is dressed in his pyjamas and sitting up in bed when Jon gets back, looking at him strangely when Jon pins the stockings to the wall over the headboard.

“We don't have a fireplace,” Jon explains as he slips back beneath the sheets. “And when mom was little, her family always did this—putting the stockings by the bed instead—so we always have, too.”

“Oh,” Spencer says. “So your dad's gonna come in _here_ in the middle of the night and—”

“No, _Santa_ is going to come in here in the middle of the night,” Jon corrects, grinning. “Or so I believed until—God, way longer than what's normal for kids, anyway. I used to make _traps,_ sometimes, to catch him. Just so that I'd be able to show my stupid brothers that he was real.”

Spencer just looks at him. Then he turns his face down into the pillow to muffle the laugh that practically explodes from his chest. “What kind of traps?” he manages, once he comes back up for air.

“Oh dude,” Jon says, trying to keep himself from starting to laugh as well. “I made epic traps. There were whole systems of pulleys and bells and trip-wires. My teddy-bears were on guard duty. It was awesome.”

“So did you ever catch him?” Spencer asks.

“Once,” Jon replies. “I was about eight, I think? Usually, mom would help me set everything up, which, looking back? Might not have been the best move, strategically. But anyway, this time, I got a new idea after they'd put me to bed, so I modified the trap. I don't know, I think there was a whoopie-cushion involved? And then later that night, I actually woke up when Santa was in the room, filling my stocking. So I just _launched_ myself out of bed and grabbed hold of his leg as hard as I could.”

“And?” Spencer says, holding up the pillow to his face like he's preparing to dive back into it.

“It was my dad,” Jon sighs dramatically. “In nothing but briefs, on top of that. But that's not even the best part,” he adds when Spencer comes back out of the pillow. “The best part is that he actually sat down on my bed and told me a long story about how he'd run into Santa in the hallway and how Santa had _asked_ him to fill my stocking instead of him, because one of his raindeer was sick and unhappy and needed to go back home. And I believed him. I even made a get-well card for the raindeer the next day.”

Spencer smiles. “No wonder you fell for Brendon,” he says quietly. “You're a fairy tale junkie too.”

Jon doesn't know how to answer that, or express how things have been changing inside his head lately—at least not in any way that doesn't sound unbelievably sappy. He pulls Spencer close instead, kisses him deeply until he thinks he's got the message across and they both start to drift off to sleep.

***

  
Christmas Day passes in a food-induced coma. Jon is forced to admit that Spencer is a force to be reckoned with when he happily accepts a fifth cinnamon roll from Susan as the six of them sprawl over couches and chairs to watch Christmas movies while Jon's parents go to visit one of their neighbours. Usually, Jon takes the left corner of the couch and has to fight with Mike to get enough space for his feet. This time, Mike and Lindsey curl together at the opposite end without even having to be asked, and Jon gets to have Spencer practically in his lap.

It's pretty awesome.

Spencer finishes the cinnamon roll and starts licking the sugar from his fingers, and Jon modifies 'awesome' to 'awkward', doing his best to pretend that the sweatpants he's wearing aren't nearly as revealing as they actually are. Spencer squirms a little, like he's trying to get more comfortable, and then licks his thumb again. Slowly. Jon stares.

At the opposite end of the couch, Mike and Lindsey burst out laughing.

“Careful, Jon,” Mike says. “Don't drool all over the pillows.”

Jon gives him a dark look, which just seems to make Mike laugh harder.

“Hey, Bill,” he says, turning his head in the opposite direction. “Did we have the talk with Jonny yet? On how to preserve at least some of the Walker pride and not become completely whipped by his boyfriend?”

“I don't think so,” Bill says. “I remember we told him about girls when he was in seventh grade, but that's not really helpful. Maybe we should give it another try.”

“Or maybe you should shut up,” Susan says fondly. “There's nothing wrong with showing some love, right? Bill, could you please get me some more water? With two slices of lemon?”

Bill gives her a 'you traitor' look, and Mike and Lindsey double over again. Susan smiles sweetly, and Bill sighs and gets to his feet, mumbling that it's not the same thing. Susan's _pregnant_. It's a special case.

They all trade jokes back and forth for a while, until Bill gets back with Susan's water and they all settle down to watch the film. Jon drops his head back against the top of the couch and focuses on the screen until he can feel Spencer watching him. He looks down, meets Spencer's eyes. Spencer is worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“What?” Jon mouths, moving a hand to stroke the outline of Spencer's chin. Spencer swallows, wets his lips like he's about to say something. Jon waits. After what feels like a very long time, Spencer shakes his head a little and smiles.

“Nothing. Movie cuddles?”

Jon lets go of the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and quickly rearranges himself on the couch so that he's spooned up against Spencer's back, legs and arms all tangled together. He rests his head against Spencer's shoulder and ignores the knowing smile on Mike's face.

Cuddling is totally awesome.

***

  
Jon gets his revenge on Bill and Mike during the annual Walker Brother Snowball Death Match the next day. His brothers might be older and bigger, but Jon is in better shape and was always a little faster, so he ends up getting a good amount of snow inside their jackets and at least a handful down the back of Mike's pants.

Spencer comes to meet him in the hallway when he comes back in, looking somewhere between pissed off and utterly traumatised.

“Okay, upstairs, right now,” he says, pulling Jon towards the stairs before he's even taken off his jacket. Jon stumbles after him, and Spencer pulls them quickly into Jon's room, throwing the door shut and pressing Jon up against it.

“Spencer, what—“

“They were talking about pregnancies and period pains,” Spencer says, pushing Jon's jacket off his shoulders as he speaks and moving on to get rid of his shirt. “You left me alone to deal with conversations about _blood and vaginas,_ Jon. Fucking _yeast infections_. A million other things I never wanted to know about. I feel like I just lost 80% of my masculinity.”

He puts his hands on Jon's belt, undoing it quickly and getting the jeans open so he can push them down to the middle of Jon's thighs.

“Um,” Jon says, trying to catch up with what is happening, while his own hands automatically start to tear at Spencer's clothes as well. “I'm sorry?”

Spencer kisses him, rough and deep, and shoves his own jeans out of the way. “I figured you could make it up to me.”

The hand on his hip isn't asking, and Jon turns around so fast he almost loses his balance. Spencer presses up against him, hard and hot against Jon's back, planting his teeth firmly into the skin on Jon's shoulder.

Jon bites back a groan.

***

  
It's around 5 pm on New Year's Eve when Spencer gets the call. They're back in Jon's apartment, getting ready to go to a party at Bill Beckett's house. The days after they got back from Jon's parents have passed in a blur, and Jon knows that he's been walking around with a pretty permanent smile on his face. It's probably something that he should try to be less obvious about, but it's kind of hard for him to act all cool and casual when he gets to wake up next to Spencer every morning. Especially when Spencer keeps smiling back.

“Hi, Ry,” Jon hears Spencer say, mouthing 'it's Ryan' and pointing at the phone. “Happy New Year, man. What's up?”

Jon mouths a 'say hi' back and opens his closet to try and find a decent shirt.

“Yeah, Jon says hi,” Spencer continues. “Yeah, God, his family is awesome. Super nice. _Such_ good food. Never tell my mom, but I think their ginger snaps are even better than the ones we have at home. I won't have to eat for at least a month. Oh, and his brothers were there and—hey, you okay?”

Jon looks up from where he'd been rummaging through his sock drawer. Spencer is standing unnaturally still at the side of the bed.

“No, I—” he says, turning his eyes to the floor. “Are you sure there isn't anything you can—no! Of course I'm not—yeah, okay. But, _Ryan_ —” The call goes on for about ten minutes, and Jon watches with a sinking feeling in his stomach how Spencer grows steadily paler.

“They broke up,” Spencer says, as soon as he hangs up, slumping down to sit at the side of the bed. “Fuck, Jon, they _broke up._ ”

Jon sits down next to him, trying to wrap his head around the words. “When?”

“This morning,” Spencer says, like he can't believe it either. “He said Christmas was a disaster. They had a big fight about it.”

“Jesus.”

“I know.”

Spencer's face is completely blank. Jon reaches out and pulls him into a hug, wishing he knew what was going on inside Spencer's head. Spencer leans into him for a moment, arms wrapping themselves tightly around Jon's waist. Then he tenses up and moves away, gets to his feet before Jon can stop him.

“Hey, what—?”

“We're fucked, Jon,” Spencer states, with an undertone of panic. “We're going out on tour again in one week! What if they can't even be in the same room? Ryan's gonna latch on to me like a fucking parasite, and you _know_ how Brendon gets when they fight, and...”

He swallows hard, moving further away.

Jon gets to his feet. “Spencer, this—” he starts to say, and then falls silent as he realises that he doesn't actually know how to finish the sentence. He reaches out again. Spencer evades him and grabs his jacket from where it's hanging over a chair.

“Come on, we need to get going.”

As though on cue, Jon's phone beeps. It's a text from Tom, announcing that he and Sean are double-parked outside Jon's building and telling them to hurry up. Jon finishes dressing quickly and starts looking for his keys. Spencer is already half-way out the door when he finds them, and Jon figures that whatever conversation they need to have will just have to wait until later.

The ride over to Bill's house is weird. Spencer spends most of it looking out the window, leaving it to Jon to keep up the conversation that Tom and Sean keep trying to involve them in. He reaches for Spencer's hand when they step out of the car. Spencer looks back at him, biting his lip like he's unsure about how to react. Jon sees him throw quick glances around to check if people have noticed and feels immediately uneasy. To be fair, most of Jon's Chicago friends are hopeless gossips, and he and Spencer have been keeping a pretty low profile around them so far. But after spending three days with Jon's family and another five mostly in bed, it feels somehow wrong to not be touching each other.

Spencer obviously doesn't agree, though. Not if the way he carefully pulls his hand away from Jon's and takes a step to the side is any indication. He keeps avoiding Jon for most of the evening, and Jon feels the lump in his stomach grow. He does his best to look like he's having a good time, pretending that he's not watching Spencer drink and dance and laugh with people who isn't him out of the corner of his eye.

It's getting close to midnight, and suddenly everyone is pairing up and starting to make out around him. Jon can't see Spencer anywhere, and the way his brain immediately starts checking who else could be missing makes his stomach clench.

He grabs his jacket and walks out of the house. The air is cold, almost painful when he pulls it into his lungs. Jon doesn't mind. He walks up and down the street a few times, dragging his feet through the thin layer of snow covering the asphalt. It's quiet.

He sits down on a bench by a bus stop and takes out his phone. It's ten to midnight. He sends off texts to Ryan and Brendon and hesitates for a minute before sending one to Spencer as well. It takes approximately twenty seconds for his phone to buzz.

_where tf are you?_

_bus stop,_ Jon sends back. Ten seconds later, his phone buzzes with another text. From Brendon, this time.

_made huge mistake & ry won't talk 2 me. pls help_

Jon feels a genuine smile spread on his face for the first time that night and types out _go win him back,_ followed by a few lines from Disney's _Kiss the Girl_. He's not really surprised at his lack of reaction when Brendon replies, a single _< 3_ appearing on the screen. Not that long ago that a text like that would have made his heart race and the hope he'd worked hard to push down bubble right back up to the surface. Now, it just slides by.

“I thought you'd left.”

Jon jumps at the sound, and the bubbling, aching, swirling things he didn't feel a second ago are suddenly all there, making him dizzy. He turns around and sees Spencer standing some ten feet away, hands firmly shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“Do you—” Spencer starts again. “I mean, you can just tell me, you know, if you think we should stop or whatever. You don't have to pretend that—I mean, we both knew what this was when it started. It's fine.”

Jon hears the words, but the way his heart is beating too loud and too fast in his chest is distracting enough to keep him from really making sense of them. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to Spencer, reaching up to cup his face. Spencer stops talking when Jon's fingers skate across his cheeks, leaving only the sound of blood rushing in Jon's ears when he leans in, pressing their lips together.

He feels a small gasp against his mouth and lets his hands slide into Spencer's hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Spencer starts kissing back right as the first round of fireworks explodes above their heads and shouts of 'Happy New Year' start ringing out from people's back yards.

“I thought,” Spencer says when the kiss finally breaks. “I thought if they broke up, we'd—”

Jon cuts him off with another kiss, not caring when he ends up banging their noses together. “You're an idiot,” he murmurs against Spencer's mouth, taking another deep kiss before wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. The three words he whispers close to Spencer's ear are drowned out by the fireworks, but Jon knows that Spencer heard them, and that's the important part.

Spencer pulls back with a dazed expression on his face. “Say that again?”

Jon presses his forehead against Spencer's, smiling so hard he knows he must be looking completely ridiculous. “I can say it in Italian if you want,” he teases. “Or Russian. Even Norwegian actually. A girl in my class in tenth grade went off to some international summer camp in Europe and brought back a whole list.”

Spencer lets out a shaky laugh. “I only took French in High School.”

“Good,” Jon says, wrapping his arms tighter around Spencer's back. “Then we can trade knowledge. You first.”

Spencer laughs again and leans back in, whispering soft syllables against the corners of Jon's mouth between careful kisses.

Jon kisses him back, too happy and too much in love to think of doing anything else. “Jeg elsker dig også.”

Spencer smiles.


End file.
